IT was but a little thing, Yet I knew it meant to me Ease from what had given a sting To the very birdsinging Latterly. But I would not welcome it; And for all I then declined O the regrettings infinite When the night-processions flit Through the mind! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 6 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING IN A LIBRARY by EMILY DICKINSON THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: FEBRUARY by EDMUND SPENSER THE ANNOYER by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS SONNET: 11 by RICHARD BARNFIELD APPLE SAUCE! by EDITH GRACE BERKNESS |